


His Memory

by lordtakemefromthis



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28730286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordtakemefromthis/pseuds/lordtakemefromthis
Summary: An itch lies just beneath the skin.A sword and shield lie in wait, collecting dust as the days pass by.Bright pink scars mar pale skin, preventing a pair of trembling hands from regaining what they once lost.
Kudos: 1





	His Memory

**Author's Note:**

> it's self insert minecraft fanfiction because i yearn for more minecraft content  
> wrote this first chapter in the notes app at 3am
> 
> title is subject to change, ratings/warnings will be updated (if necessary) as the story goes on

An itch lies just beneath the skin. 

Day after day, Sen wakes up underneath dusty white sheets and rolls out of the uncomfortable cot he calls a bed, wandering over to the chests crammed into the small space beside where he sleeps. He shakes the dirt from his jacket, pulls it over his arms, grabs something to eat, and slams the door behind him as he leaves. 

Grunts and glances are thrown his way as he passes through the village, but the man pays no mind by now. Whatever language the villagers speak, if any, is indecipherable. Sometimes Sen wonders if they communicate at all. All of then seem dazed and empty-minded, content to simply go about a constant daily routine. That contentedness is something Sen thinks he might envy. 

It's such a shame that Sen can never be so empty-minded. Most days are horribly boring, and he feels every second of it. Sen can hardly mock the villagers for their monotonous routine, as he's found himself trapped in one of his own. 

The first portion of the morning is spent looking over the crops. They take more than a night to grow, but he's willing to harvest and replant those that have grown sporadically instead of waiting for the entire batch. Patience isn't his strong suit, especially not when it comes to where his next meal is coming from. 

After that, he'll check on the few animals he's managed to wrangle into shoddily made pens. Breeding them is difficult; all the livestock really need is food, but with the shortage Sen has struggled with since far before he found this village, it's impossible to set aside enough food for every animal. And so, he's left with three cows, one chicken, and four sheep. He recalls naming them all at some point, but whatever he named them is lost in the fog of his memory. 

When the sun begins to reach a pinch over the distant mountains, Sen goes for a walk around the oak forest just outside the village. He'll find one particular tree, taller than the rest with roots running deep, and sit at the base with his book and quill in hand. This time used to be enjoyable, but nowadays, it's hard to find anything of note to write about. More often than not Sen will sit and read over his past adventures, things that his memory has fogged over and obscured. 

After that, it's mining for... something. Stone, he tells himself, when truly he's mining for something to do. Sen's hair and clothing are caked in months worth of dust, pebbles finding their way into annoying places just to be found late at night when Sen turns over in his sleep. The cave walls once held fascinating things, but they've all been dried of their resources by now. Nothing interesting anymore, just dead ends and the occasional resonating noise that always urges Sen straight back to the surface. The surface that always calms his racing heart, but he always misses that adrenaline once it's gone. 

Once chores are out of the way, Sen struggles to occupy himself. He wanders the town, sparing glances at the villagers with their elongated noises and bald heads. Ugly, Sen often thinks, but he supposes they likely think the same about himself. If they think at all, that is. 

The days pass by in a blur. It seems like daylight stretches on endlessly, but at the same time, nightfall is always sudden and unexpected. Then Sen will eat his supper, tuck into bed, and do it all again the next day. It's utterly miserable. 

Sen longs to explore the world once more. He wishes to traverse the vast, seemingly infinite world around him, finding new things that he couldn't possibly imagine existing. His dreams have supplied copious ideas, but even dreaming has grown bland. The night turns to morning in the blink of an eye, and Sen is left to stare across his little house at the rickety armor stand that greets him every time he wakes. 

An itch lies just beneath the skin as Sen's eyes pass over the sword hanging on the wall, the shield leant right next to his armor. 

Every day, that itch goes unscratched. 

Every day, the armor, sword, and shield collect more and more dust. 

And every night, Sen runs his calloused fingers over the scars that adorn his skin. 

The boredom may be torture, but torture is better than death. 

Right?


End file.
